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reflections

Getting out of the house in the morning is sometimes an experience right out of Bridget Jones' head, i.e. a long, rambling, convoluted, eventually turning into a mad scramble, returning to the house at least once to pick up forgotten keys, phone, iPod, some crucial item needed for work. My record so far is two plus hours after I wake up. This is unacceptable.

Such mornings are made when worse when I can't decide what to wear. I stand in front of the mirror dazed, annoyed, unable to think. It doesn't seem to have anything to do with boredom with my clothes. It's just one of those moments when nothing speaks to my mood and I feel pissed off at everything. I stare at the mirror and will for inspiration to hit, for something to lift my mood.

This train of thought was set off after I looked through this editorial. It seemed to speak to me that way. I think it's the blankness of her face. I like the idea of staring at the reflection and fooling around, looking at the clothes from a different angle.